by Ginny Aiken
Her quick gesture pleased him, she could tell, for his blue eyes were glowing as he squeezed her hand. “Will ten o’clock be too early to get started? I only require about seven hours’ sleep, but you may want to sleep in later than that.”
She shook her head. “I have all summer to sleep in. I don’t want to miss a thing while I’m here.”
“See you then,” he said, but he made no move to leave.
Melanie decided to take the initiative. She squeezed his hand back. “I had a wonderful time,” she said, taking a step back from him.
“So did I.” His eyes followed her as she took another step back, then she forced herself to turn around and walk to the elevator. But in her heart she had taken flight and was drifting through thin air like an angel. Or at least tonight she had become Cinderella, the enchanted heroine of the fable she often read to her little girls in school while the boys wiggled in their seats and pretended to be bored.
Chapter 4
When she looked out of the hotel window, she saw to her great pleasure that it was a gorgeous spring day. The chestnut trees were in full bloom and there was a slow, lazy beauty to everything. She took a deep long breath, feeling totally relaxed after a good night’s rest.
Pink. This was definitely the day for the pink linen dress with the square neck, cap sleeves, and long skirt with its deep side slit. Too bad her skin wasn’t yet tanned enough to do the dress justice. But she had her own opinion about tanning beds. She preferred the natural vitamin D. She hurried to the shower, deciding to shampoo her hair for the second day in a row, just to be sure it really gleamed in the sunlight. Have I ever shampooed my hair two days in a row? she asked herself absently as she gathered up her toiletries.
She was making progress toward being the desirable woman she had always dreamed of becoming. Humming an old song Granny used to sing about April in Paris, she smiled to herself when she got to the part about not feeling a lover’s warm embrace until April in Paris. As she turned the shower on, she wondered if Dave had ever heard the song.
It was exactly ten when she stepped into the lobby, but Dave was already there, wearing khaki chinos, a white knit polo shirt, and a pair of loafers that looked as though they were made for comfortable walks around Paris. Clean and nice, but the leather was obviously a bit worn. Stretched to fit his feet, her father would say when he wanted to pay a compliment to his favorite shoes.
A smile quickly appeared when Dave spotted her and walked over to meet her. His eyes swept down her dress then returned to her face. He was looking at the short curly tendrils she had spent some time styling about her face before braiding the length of her hair in a French braid. It felt right, and she thought he must like it though he didn’t say so. He merely smiled, as though she was exactly what he had expected.
“So do you have our itinerary?” she asked, initiating a conversation.
He whipped a pocket-size notebook from his pocket and flipped open the pages. “I studied the map last night and decided we should begin with the farthest point first, if that suits you.”
“It suits me fine.” She looked down at the notepad and saw the neat handwriting. Each line was numbered as though he had carefully outlined the plan. “You did all that after three this morning?” she asked, staring at the pad, completely amazed.
“Actually, I wake up every morning at six. Doesn’t seem to matter if I went to bed at ten in Atlanta or at three in Paris,” he said, placing the notebook back in his pocket. “I’m afraid I’m a slave to routine,” he said. “When you get to know me better, you may not see that as an asset.”
She had to smile at that. It had always been something she strove to accomplish. “Everyone needs a plan,” she said, having told herself that each morning as she woke up and faced a stack of haphazardly folded papers that she had not graded. “Since I’m trying to set a better routine for my work habits, you’ll be a good example for me.”
They had crossed the lobby, taking turns through the revolving door, and were out on the sidewalk, where everyone around them seemed to be smiling and happy. Not one dour face like she often glimpsed in the adjoining cars at the corner red light on her way to school every morning.
He waved over a taxi and she looked at him questioning. “Thought we were walking.”
“That’s how we’ll end up,” he said, opening the door for her. “If it’s okay with you,” he added quickly. “I hope you’re ready for brunch.”
She hadn’t even thought of food, which surprised her, when once she lived for meals. “I will be. I had a cup of tea in my room and that was all I wanted.”
“And I had my usual pot of coffee,” he said, laughing, as they settled into the backseat.
“I would have the shakes by now if I had drunk a pot of coffee,” she said, glancing at him. She found it so easy to smile at him whenever they talked. She was not in the habit of smiling so much, except of course with her students, and they made it easy.
“And I would have a throbbing headache if I hadn’t, addicted as I am to caffeine.”
She shrugged and laughed softly. “Oh well, we all have our favorite things, I guess.”
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For not lecturing me like one anorexic friend who thinks caffeine is only half a step away from an illegal drug. Sorry that was an unkind thing to say about my last girlfriend.”
She tilted her head and looked at him honestly. “It’s your choice and your life. My parents don’t even speak to anyone until they’ve had at least two cups of coffee, and we learned early to respect that.”
He chuckled. “My brain doesn’t truly function until it has been stroked by the presence of coffee.” He had given the driver their destination and now the taxi was flying past all the landmarks she wanted to photograph. But then it occurred to her that she had forgotten her camera. What had happened to her common sense?
Dave had reached for her hand, and it seemed a natural gesture as they both took note of the passing scenery.
It would be a day she would treasure for the rest of her life. Dave solved her problem by picking up a disposable camera at a quaint little tourist shop.
“The pictures probably won’t be the quality of the ones your camera would have taken.”
“It doesn’t matter. I can always buy postcards if I blur the pictures or get them off center, which usually happens.”
He laughed as they entered the Louvre and strolled leisurely to admire the statues. Out in the courtyard, she took a few pictures, and then they moved on to the Eiffel Tower, the statue of Napoleon, a museum that she found interesting, and finally ended up back at the hotel, their feet dragging. Dave was unable to suppress another yawn.
“What you need is a nap,” she teased him.
“And miss dinner with you?”
She paused before the revolving door, since he had kept the taxi waiting. “Why can’t you do both?” she suggested helpfully. It was something that she had already plotted sometime during the afternoon when she realized she enjoyed being with him so much that she dreaded saying good-bye. That would come on Friday; why not make the most of the few days together?
“Hey, great idea. So, a later dinner suits you?”
“Perfectly.” She winked at him, pleased that he smiled at the gesture. It was amazing the way another person seemed to have emerged from the presence of Melanie Roberts, as though the fairy godmother had touched her with a wand and turned her into the woman she had always longed to be. She had never winked at a guy; it seemed so silly. But since meeting Dave, everything she said and did were honest reactions to his charm.
“Let’s see …” He studied his wristwatch, which she noted was a frequent habit. He had admitted to routine, and she saw now how he stayed on schedule. He kept up with time, which always seemed to elude her. “It is now six o’clock. We could rest a couple of hours and meet up again at nine,” he glanced at her, “or even ten.”
She recalled he had admitted he only needed sev
en hours of sleep. She was an eight-hour sleeper, and a vague weariness clung to her body and dimmed her eyes. Yet in her heart, she was so exuberant that she wondered if she could even nap. But she must, her healthy nature reminded her. And she must have a cup of herb tea for energy when she awoke. She had come prepared with tea bags and vitamins.
“Nine is okay with me if you want to be here by then. If you don’t make it until nine thirty, or even ten, just look for me on one of the sofas.” She nodded in the direction of the comfortable areas within the lobby.
“See you tonight,” she said softly, and this time it was he who reached down and touched his lips to hers in a sweet, brief kiss. He leaned back and stared down into her eyes and for a moment, neither said anything. Then she was conscious of the elevator opening behind her, at the same time she realized they were still holding hands. “See you later,” he said, watching her as she got on the elevator and the door closed between them, closing off her view of him. She breathed a long, deep sigh of pure bliss. Was she dreaming? If so, she never wanted to wake up.
Chapter 5
He had selected another perfect restaurant for them. The one he had chosen last night had been exclusive and rather formal, and yet she was happy to have eaten there. It was one of those “must go” restaurants according to her guidebook—and even Nan Harper, who had gone once in her fifty-five years. After learning Melanie was going to Paris, Nan had tossed out names and places as though she hung out in Paris every summer. Melanie knew Nan’s strategy: She had been studying the same tour book from their library. As usual, Nan always had to be one up on everyone else.
“We had authentic French last night; I thought you might like to sample a true Italian restaurant.”
“How did you know it’s my favorite food?”
He held the chair for her and she settled in, casting a glance over the wonderful ambiance of Old Italy recreated. “That’s easy, because I always try to get one meal here whenever I come. Maybe I should just fly on over to Rome one of these days. I think there has to be Italian blood in my genes, the way I go after pasta.”
Her eyes widened as he went around the table and took a seat while an eager waitress rushed to their side. “Which do you like best—lasagna or spaghetti?” Melanie asked, wondering if he really was that much like her.
“Pizza,” he grinned, opening the menu. “But tonight I want something a little fancier. Do you like veal?” he asked.
She shook her head. “Not really. Just pasta of any flavor, any variation, as long as the chef uses pure olive oil and only a mild dash of garlic.”
“Absolutely,” he agreed, studying the selections.
She forced herself to do the same. The prices were less staggering than last night’s famous French restaurant. Still, the food was expensive. She knew it would be, having done her research. But, thank God, he was buying. She had felt wealthy when she boarded the airplane, but already those funds were vanishing like magic, and she couldn’t even remember what she had purchased. Souvenirs, naturally, and postcards, still unwritten, and the clothes, of course. All a wise investment, she told herself, as Dave ordered a veal dish and a spinach salad.
Melanie asked for the dish that seemed to offer the most tomato paste and pasta, which to her were twin components. It was authentic spaghetti, and when it was placed before her and she dipped a fork into it, a tiny mouthful thrilled her taste buds and she savored its delicate flavor.
They had both ordered coffee, an unusual departure for her, but she wanted to stay awake. Even though the French made their coffee strong, the rich cream made it pleasant. She discovered that it was possible for her to like coffee.
“Thought you didn’t drink that stuff,” he said, glancing at her half-empty cup, looking slightly amused.
“I don’t. Often, I mean. But after watching you enjoy yours so much, I was tempted to give it a fair try. And I’m glad I did,” she lifted the demitasse to her lips, taking another little sip.
“I’ve had a great time, Melanie,” he said as they finished their meal and again refused dessert.
“So have I,” she admitted, looking squarely into the blue eyes that she had come to adore. And as for the southern accent, it now lulled her senses; in fact, she was going to miss it. Somehow his drawl softened the harsh realities of the world and drew her into a special world that included only the two of them.
“I have to put in an appearance at tomorrow’s meeting,” he said, almost in apology.
“Oh, I understand. After all, you’re here on business, not holiday, like me.”
He looked across at her, and she saw genuine regret in his eyes. “I wish I were on holiday. There are so many things to do, so many places….” His voice trailed, and she could see that he hated missing out.
She decided to make him feel better. “Actually, I need to write those postcards, so I don’t beat them home, and I want to return to that little bookstore on the corner and browse. So I won’t be doing anything significant for you to miss.”
“It isn’t that,” he said, then hesitated.
“It isn’t what?” she echoed, watching him carefully, wondering if it were possible that he had the same feelings for her that she had for him.
“I’d just like to spend the day with you,” he added simply.
She smiled deeply. He was so honest and open and sincere about everything that she was deeply touched.
“Maybe it’s my turn to do something nice,” she said, wondering if she should offer to buy dinner.
“Like getting together a picnic lunch for us tomorrow?”
“What a wonderful idea,” she beamed. “And go to a beautiful park someplace?”
He nodded. “Tomorrow I can sneak out about eleven and take a very long lunch hour. There’s a beautiful park right across the street from my hotel.” He repeated the address, although she had already memorized it. “Since it’s so near my hotel, would you mind just meeting me in the park?”
“Not at all. In fact, I had hoped to stroll through one of the parks here before I left.” Why did she feel she had to make excuses to justify every action?
He looked disappointed. “I don’t have to be present for you to enjoy the park.”
“Yes, you do,” she said, tossing the old inhibited Melanie into the night. She believed in honesty and used it as a basic tool for her students. Why be different with adults? For the first time, the things she said and did seemed to make sense. She wondered why she had to come all the way to Paris, France, to resurrect the person who had been hiding underneath the layers of self-consciousness. She was shedding her defensive attitude much faster than she had shed the surplus twenty pounds. This pleased her.
Was it because of Dave Browning? Was it true that the right person complemented your strengths and softened your weaknesses? Yes, she decided; Granny was right. That was true! Or at least that was what was happening to her.
What else was happening? Melanie wondered as their gaze locked and neither spoke. It was one of those special moments when words are unnecessary, when eye contact is more important, when thoughtful silence allows one to slowly process what is taking place inside. It was something she had never been able to explain to Taylor, who talked incessantly. But Dave understood this, she could tell that he did.
He blinked and shook his head slightly, like one just coming out of a dream, and for a moment she felt it would be a necessary gesture for her too, but she refrained.
“Tell me more about your grandmother. She seems to have had a major impact on your life.”
“She did.” Melanie hesitated for a moment, studying his expression. He wasn’t just being a polite southern gentleman. He was interested in her grandmother because he was interested in her. And when she realized that, she felt the same satisfaction that came to her from watching a beautiful sunrise or sunset, or hearing the church choir singing Christmas hymns.
Where did she begin in describing the woman who had been so important in her life? “She came to live with us after
having a mild stroke that left her right side paralyzed so that she could longer be the independent woman she once was. She said her mind wasn’t as sharp, but I never agreed. She had a remarkable mind, and she could captivate me with stories, which she often did. She even did a funny little shuffle of feet when she came into my room once and my radio was playing hits from the fifties,” she laughed softly as she lifted her gaze over Dave’s face and stared into space.
She raised a napkin to her mouth, aware she could no longer hold another bite. “My grandfather, Solomon Brown, was a salt-of-the-earth kind of guy, which Granny said was exactly the type she needed to keep her on balance. But she didn’t like the name Solomon so she simply called him Brown. From their first meeting, I suppose.”
Dave laughed. “I’m sorry I never met her. She sounds like so much fun.”
Melanie felt the threat of tears. “Yes, she was many things. In fact, she’s the reason I’m with you tonight.”
Dave was suddenly serious. “How? What do you mean?”
She told him about the “wish” money she had inherited upon her grandmother’s death in January and her grandmother’s little note to see Paris for her. She had been determined to follow Granny’s instructions, although her parents both argued she should pay off her car, or her college loan, or something typically sensible and responsible.
She was still talking about Granny when the waiter appeared rather discreetly at their table, inquiring again about more coffee.
Dave finally got the hint and looked at his watch. “It must be near closing time.”
The waiter merely smiled, too polite to admit that it was. When Melanie looked around the cozy restaurant, however, she realized they were the only couple left.
“I’m sorry …,” Dave began as his eyes followed hers. “I didn’t realize it was so late.”
